


Concrete Angel

by stephensmat



Category: Castle
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Memories, Mystery, Origin Story, Tearjerker, Where Alexis Got Her Name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 17:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11742060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephensmat/pseuds/stephensmat
Summary: Martha bit her lip and looked at Beckett sadly. "Tell me Detective..." She asked wearily. "Do you think it's possible for a six year old boy to fall in love?"





	Concrete Angel

**Author's Note:**

> This story covers some heavy topics, but in a respectful, non-explicit way. That said, it is considerably darker than most of my fics. Rated Hard T because of the subject matter, but there is nothing explicit, so it doesn't rate the 'Mature' warning.
> 
> The question of what got Richard Castle interested in the macabre was not answered until the second last season finale, and even then, only for a single episode. Some time ago, I started playing around the with idea, and this was the result. I'm migrating this fic over from fanfic net, but with the episode 'Hollander's Woods' I guess it's technically an AU now.

Beckett was starting to lose patience. She could feel his eyes all over her. Not a new feeling, but this time... "Put your eyes back in your head Castle."

"What do you think?" He demanded, equally impatient.

"I think I wish I had never insisted on reading the first one before publication."

"Kate, the New York book critics are one thing, your opinion means more."

Kate turned the page. "Frozen Heat." She said to buy time. "That's sort of a contradiction, isn't it?"

"But you know what it means..."

"Yes, I can read." Beckett assured him. "The metaphor was not cryptic."

"So what do you think?"

Beckett read the last page, and closed the manuscript. "I like it."

"Yeah?"

"Gotta say, the Nikki Heat Books are improving as they go." Beckett conceded. "But the ending dragged a bit. Much longer than the last one."

Castle nodded, sipping his coffee. "The last page is the hardest one to write."

Beckett was about to answer when her cell phone rang. "Beckett." She listened a moment, and got to her feet. "On the way."

* * *

It was the lowest end of town. The part of town that always seemed to be overcast. There were bullet casings on the ground all over the place, and dirty curtains twitched behind cracked windows.

Cops hated this sort of place. The enemy had already claimed this land. Lawmen were not welcome here.

"No visual on the shooter or the car he took, but reports say there was a lot of yelling, then a few gunshots, then the sound of tires burning rubber to get away." Ryan reported. The body was at the rear of the alley, covered by a sheet.

Beckett waved at it. "Why a sheet?"

"Kids. Lotta homeless around this area. They see enough bad stuff." Laine explained from beside the body. "He's covered in powder. Cocaine and gunpowder residue."

"Drug deal gone bad?"

"Looks like it. Large caliber bullets took a huge chunk outta his gut. The powder residue says it was up close and personal." Laine reported.

"No ID on the body, but we ran his prints and came back with a criminal record as long as your arm." Ryan added. "Assault, fraud, drug convictions, drunk and disorderly. He's been in and out of prison, rehab, anger management…"

"Bad guys killing bad guys." Esposito agreed. "Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy."

"Name of deceased is Devon Grinham."

She didn't have to turn. She could feel the electric shock that ran through her partner from two feet away. Castle reacted like he'd been hit with a lightning bolt. "Devon Grinham." He said. His voice was flat.

Beckett looked at him, surprised. "You know him?"

Beat. It looked like Castle hadn't even heard her. His posture had changed, becoming hooded and furious. No, not furious. Livid. Not livid. Volcanic.

"Devon. Grinham." Castle repeated slowly, his voice was pure anti-life. Ten cops and ME's surrounding the body, and they all turned to look in surprise as light and joking Castle suddenly morphed into a ferocious monster. Breathing hellfire he stormed over to the body and ripped back the sheet.

"Who is he?" Beckett asked in alarm, barely able to recognize the man in front of her. She felt like a mask had just been ripped off Castle's face, revealing something truly ugly and bloodthirsty underneath.

Castle leaned over the body, studying the corpse carefully. He seemed locked in a staring contest with the body... For a moment, it looked like Castle's hands were wrapped around Grinham's throat.

Finally, Castle leaped to his feet, and reeled away, anger replaced with what looked like strong nausea. He walked as far from the body as he could get, the emotion making him wobble on his feet.

"Castle?" Beckett probed in open concern.

Silence. Ryan and Esposito traded a glance. Neither of them knew what was going on.

"Rick?" Beckett repeated, one of the few times she had used his first name. It looked like Castle was about to lose his lunch.

Finally, he turned to face her. His face was green with nausea, and his eyes red with unshed tears. "Detective." He said slowly. "I'm not going to be much good to you today. But when you find whoever put a bullet into this worm... Put him in jail. And then tell him that when he gets out, I'll have fifty grand waiting for him in any account he cares to name. A thank you on behalf of the human race for his great service."

Beckett was floored. Following him with her eyes as he left, she could see the reactions of her team. They were as stunned as she was; and she was positive her jaw was hanging as low as her team. Ryan and Esposito sent her a glance and she shook her head subtly. She didn't have a clue, but shock was already giving way to concern.

With an unholy, unnatural darkness following him, the oft-proclaimed Master Of The Macabre stalked off the Crime Scene, to the hushed silence to New York's Finest.

* * *

Setting up the murder board, Beckett was preoccupied by the photo of the Victim. What in this man had caused a reaction like that; from the most unexpected direction?

Gates came over and noticed the looks being passed around. "Problem?"

"A mystery." Beckett explained.

"Looks cut and dry to me."

Beckett bit her lip and gave Gates a full rundown on the events of the morning.

"I have no idea where Castle is now, but there's got to be more to this than…"

"This makes no sense." Gates interrupted. "We caught the guy already."

"I know, but..." Beckett paused. "What?"

Gates waved over to the corridor. A rather unseemly looking man was being wrestled into the interrogation room by five uniformed officers. "Shane Dulen." She said. "Caught him trying to get out of the city. He got pulled over by a patrol car because he had a busted tail-light. The patrolman asked for his license and found him covered in blood. Broken bags of cocaine in the backseat and trunk."

"He wants to cut a deal?"

"Been offering evidence on everything he's done in his whole life, down to stealing his sisters milk money." Gates nodded. "Can you think of a terribly convincing reason not to think he's our killer?"

Beckett bit her lip. "Might be the end of the murder, but not the mystery."

Gates shook her head. "I don't know what Castle's problem is, but there's no mystery here. MLS."

MLS was the 12th's shorthand for 'Most Likely Suspect'. Despite some of the more interesting stories, 99% of murders happened in private homes, or in the heat of the moment. Almost all murders were committed by the most likely suspect, and more often than not, they were horrified at what they'd done seconds later.

"Our Vic was a bad man Detective." Gates continued. "You try to unravel all the ways he's made people crazy in his life... You've already got a full time job. And as much as he might be part of the team informally... unraveling Castle's psychoses isn't the job the city pays you for."

"Yes sir." Beckett nodded, and headed into the interrogation room. Gates wasn't as cold as she acted, and they were already overworked... But that wouldn't stop her from running it down.

* * *

Castle threw back his latest drink. The Old Haunt belonged to him now. For all the effort he had put into thinking up a new name, the bar was still The Old haunt to him. He'd come here so often when he was younger, watching the patrons come by. They all crawled into a bottle for a night, telling their troubles to the bartender.

He found the parade of humanity far less romantic now.

He didn't know how long he'd been there, but it had to be over an hour before Beckett sat down next to him in his private booth. "We caught the killer."

Castle didn't react.

"He didn't try to hide it. He had the murder weapon. He had motive." Beckett started to tell him, but trailed off when she saw he wasn't paying attention.

Castle was no longer drinking exactly. He had the tumbler in his hand, and had it up at eye level. The amber liquid within glimmered in the light.

"Castle?" She probed gently. "When did you see him last?"

It was a calculated risk; an attempt to draw him out.

Castle spoke finally. She wasn't sure if he was answering her or not. "Mom didn't know." He said finally. "She was screaming up at me, she was screaming 'Ritchie, please! Don't let them take me away! You promised!'" He broke off. "And I couldn't get to her."

Beckett stared at him for a long time. Castle leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes for a minute. It was all she was going to get out of him.

She tried again anyway. "Castle... what can I do?"

He finally seemed to notice her. "Detective Kate... There ain't nobody left to help. There's nothing to be done."

"There's you." She shot back.

"Yeah, but I'm pretty drunk right now."

"Who is Devon Grinsham, and what did he do that made you go ballistic?" Beckett demanded, but not harshly. She was trying to bring him around to the point.

Castle toasted. "Well, you and Ryan and Esposito are a bunch of smart guys. You want to know, you'll figure it out. I don't much feel like talking about it."

* * *

"If Castle has a history with this guy... We might not want to make it official." Beckett said slowly to her team. "Once he sobers up, i'll see if I can get the story out of him. You know Castle, he can't resist telling stories."

"Well... I'm not sure." Ryan said slowly. "We tried to track down a next-of-kin for Grinham? Turns out that's not his real name. Our vic changed his name twenty five years ago. His real name is Devon  _Collier_. No next-of-kin, but he  _used_  to have a foster daughter, aged six."

"Used to?" Beckett repeated.

Ryan nodded grimly. "Her name was Alexis Collier."

* * *

Three of New York's best detectives went right to work, trying to unravel a mystery. Beckett had put them onto the kid. Alexis Collier would be in her early forties now. Whoever this girl was, their friend had decided to name his only daughter after her; and after his reaction, Team Beckett wanted to know why.

Ryan had the phone glued to his ear, and Esposito took the opportunity to slip over next to Beckett. "You know that it might be none of our business, right?"

"It's not.  _He_  is. Castle is our business. If any one of us reacted like that to anything, the whole team would be on it."

"Yeah, but... Look, he never takes anything really seriously. Well, except for you." Javier scratched his neck. "But the man writes murder thrillers for a living. He's gotta have a volcano somewhere under all that clown makeup."

Ryan hung up the phone and came back to them. "No luck. Alexis Collier was put into another foster home, ran away from them a week later and disappeared off the grid completely. There's no trace of her after that."

There was a pause as they turned the problem over in their minds.

"Castle ever tell you where his fascination with murder came from?" Beckett asked.

"No." Esposito admitted.

She sighed. "Me neither."

"Let me try." Javier took the phone. "I got a few friends in the Salvation Army. There are a few shelters that don't ask questions... They don't take names officially, because a lot of the kids they help don't want to get sent back to their foster homes. They provide cots and meals and don't ask where the kids come from. Some of them owe me a favor from back when I worked vice."

Beckett nodded her thanks. "Where are we on Grinham?"

"Grinham, or Collier, or whoever the hell his name is this week, was from Chicago. But you run the original name back a little further... He lived in Brooklyn thirty five years ago."

"So it's possible they knew each other." Beckett pressed. "Him and Castle."

"How could Castle have known about this guy?" Ryan demanded. "Thirty five years ago, Castle wasn't even Castle yet. His name was Rodgers back then. He was what? Six?"

"More than that, Grinham wasn't our vic's name thirty years ago." Esposito returned. "How would Castle have known who our corpse was? You saw how he reacted to the name."

"This is Castle we're talking about." Beckett waved that one off. "He's got people everywhere, he's got an army of informants, investigators, snitches... If this miserable old bastard mattered to him, if this guy was someone Castle remembered as he grew up..."

"Can't be. He was six years old. Who the hell remembers back that far? Grinham isn't a relative, obviously isn't a friend, a babysitter a schoolteacher..."

Beckett bit her lip. "Guys, we've got a confession. We've got evidence. We've got... everything we need to solve Grinham's murder. The case is closed."

Ryan and Esposito just looked at each other, then back at her.

Beckett grinned. "Yeah. I agree."

* * *

Martha opened the door and deflated slightly. "Kate. I thought you were Richard."

Beckett shook her head as she pushed her way in, taking in the whole Penthouse apartment with a practiced eye. "Has he been back since this morning?"

"Over an hour and a half ago." Martha reported. "He came home, looking like someone shot his dog. He went to Alexis and spent about twenty minutes giving her a non-stop hug, and then took off again. What the hell is going on?"

Beckett sighed. "I swear I don't know exactly." She confessed. "Martha? Does the name Devon Grinham mean anything to you?"

Martha blinked. "No. Not that I recall."

Beckett pulled the photo from the murder board out of her pocket. "This is him. Ring any bells?"

Martha looked at the photo and her jaw dropped. "Yes. My neighbour, after a fashion. I haven't seen him in... thirty five years."

"Huh. You have a good memory for faces."

"Well, no, not really. I only remember him because he was arrested."

"What? When?"

"I told you: Thirty-five years ago." Martha explained. Her nose wrinkled. "In fact... That same day, my son went a little berserk. Something about..." True shock crossed her face. "Oh!"

Beckett had been a cop too long not to recognize that look. Martha had just had a revelation of her own. "'Oh' what?" The detective in her demanded quickly.

Martha's eyes became sad suddenly. "Where is my son?"

"Halfway through his second scotch bottle the last time I saw him." Beckett said. "He's at the Old Haunt."

Martha rose. "Think I'll join him."

Beckett was on her feet quickly. "Martha, what the hell is going on?"

Martha suddenly looked ancient. "I just answered a thirty year old question that didn't need to be answered." She said sadly. "What did he tell you?"

"He hasn't told any of us anything." Beckett said in frustration.

Martha pulled on her coat. "Then I won't either."

"Martha-" The older woman was already out of the apartment. Beckett followed close on her heels to the elevator. "Martha, in four years I've seen most everything there is to see in Castle, but this..."

"Detective, you've seen barely  _anything_." Martha interrupted instantly. "Someone like Richard... he talks non-stop but he never says anything." She gave the detective a piercing glare. "And if you're keeping my son at arm's length for the fourth year running because you don't like how 'complicated' it is, then stay the hell away from this; because it won't get any simpler today."

Beckett was taken aback by that. Enough that she went silent. "He's still my partner." She said finally when the doors opened on the lobby. "He wouldn't walk away if it was me."

Martha met Beckett's eyes and sighed, hailing a cab. "No. He wouldn't. But if it was you... would him sticking around make you happy, or just piss you off?"

"Martha, give me  _something_!" Beckett implored as a taxi pulled up.

Martha bit her lip and looked at her sadly. "Tell me Detective..." She asked gently. "Do you think it's possible for a six year old boy to fall in love?"

Martha got into the cab and shut the door firmly, leaving Beckett on the edge of the street with that thought.

Frustrated, Beckett turned back to the door and found Alexis staring back at her. "Alexis?"

"What did you do to my dad?" The teenager demanded, smothering her upset tone as best she could.

Beckett just looked at her. "Me?"

Alexis shrugged. "Only you have ever managed to get him this riled up. He didn't get this bad when mom cheated on him. He didn't get this bad when the Times misspelled his name on two book reviews in a row. He didn't get this bad when-"

"I get the point." Beckett waved that off. "But this one wasn't me." She bit her lip. "Alexis, this is a long shot, but did your father ever tell you where he got your name?"

"My name?" Alexis was surprised. "No. He... He told me I was named after a friend of his... I never met whoever he was talking about, but I remember his first book, back before I was born... It was never published past the rejected manuscript he got back from the publisher. But the dedication read: For Alexis."

Beckett put it together instantly. "Oh my god."

"What?" Alexis reacted to Beckett's sudden alarm. " _What_?"

Beckett pulled out her phone. "Ryan, it's me. Pull housing records for Grinham. Thirty five years ago, I want to know where he was living... and who his neighbors were. Then compare that to the child service report. Where was he when his kid got taken off him?"

* * *

_"You know, you still haven't told me where your fascination with murder comes from." Beckett pointed out._

_Castle took in the request, before starting to speak, soft and sincere. "I was five years old. We were summering in the Hamptons. I was pretty much left to my own devices. This one day I was walking along the beach, I was miles from where I'd started. I was just about to turn back when I saw something had washed up on the beach I though maybe it's a whale or a turtle or a sea lion, so I ran over to see what it was."_

_Beckett leaned a little closer, sucked into the story. "What was it?_

_"It was a boy, my age." Castle confessed. "It was our housekeeper's son. It must have just happened 'cause the tide hadn't washed away all the blood." His voice dropped a little, sad and spooky. "We had just played hide and go seek just the day before."_

_"What happened to him?"_

_Long beat._

_"They never found out." Castle whispered._

_Beckett looked at him with open sympathy, fairly sad for him. It was hard to picture this man as a grownup most days, but worse to see him as a five year old with the body of his friend. "I'm so sorry Castle."_

_Castle tried to hide his smirk. For a full two seconds he succeeded._

_Beckett felt her face harden. "You made that up?"_

_Castle gave a little 'aren't I amazing' flourish. "It's what I do."_

* * *

"Hey? You okay?" Javier asked her carefully.

Beckett came out of her memories and back to the real world. "Martha's right." She told him. "Castle talks all the time and never says anything."

Ryan hung up the phone and came over. "You were right. We found the lease. Devon Grinham, formerly Devon Collier. Two bedroom apartment on the third floor of a Brooklyn apartment complex. Immediately downstairs, his neighbor Martha Rodgers and her six year old son Ritchie."

"Martha said Devon was arrested."

"There's a note in the housing file that says he bowed out of his lease when he left town suddenly. The local PD has an arrest report around that time. We didn't find a conviction thirty years ago because there wasn't one." Javier said. "He was arrested, but released. They didn't have enough evidence to make it to trial; so it didn't show up in his criminal record when we ran his name."

"But there was an arrest. What was the charge?"

"Child abuse."

Beckett's face hardened. "Of his foster daughter."

"Right."

"It explains why Grinham never went back to his apartment again, and why he left New York for thirty years." Javier nodded. "Back there and back then, would have been a dozen cops willing to run him out of town on a rail, warrant or not."

"Where's Alexis Collier now?" Beckett asked Esposito. "Did you get an answer?"

Javier heard that, and his face fell. "Yeah." He said finally. "Yeah, I did."

Beckett took him in. "You're not smiling."

"No." Esposito agreed. "I'm not."

Beckett and Ryan traded a bleak look. Beckett noticed Gates at the door to her office, looking over, though being subtle about it. Beckett sat down in preparation. "Okay. Tell me."

"She's... at Greenwood Cemetery. Died four years after going off grid. Suicide."

"Suicide at age eleven." Ryan said in a hushed, respectful voice.

Beckett was pinching her nose, rubbing her eyes. She'd been hoping for some brilliant revelation that would lead to a happy ending. Something she could take to Castle to make it all better again. Looking around at her boys, she could see the same thought on all their faces.

"Well." Beckett said finally. "All the victims were laid to rest long ago, and all the criminals involved are dead or in jail already. Looks like it's time we called it a night."

"Castle's probably still at The Old Haunt." Javier suggested. "What say we all go join him, gargle this taste outta our mouths with a little scotch and pour him into bed?"

"Sounds good, except how about you let me handle that myself?" Beckett returned. It didn't take a detective to see that it wasn't a polite suggestion.

* * *

Martha looked up as Beckett sat next to her at the bar. "Detective. You look like I feel."

Beckett nodded. "I found the kid."

Martha's head turned quickly with a millisecond of hope in her eyes, before reality caught up and Martha sighed. "Does he know?"

"Where she is? Not sure. I was hoping to find him here actually."

Martha nodded, staring at her drink, battling her own demons. "It was my fault."

"Your fault?"

Martha nodded. "I woke Richard up for school one day, and I found him asleep in bed, and this adorable little girl was with him. They were curled up snoozing happily. She lived upstairs, and he had the fire escape out his bedroom window. When the girl woke up and saw me, she ran for it, dove right out the window without a word. Richard thought it was a game. A secret to keep. A week later, it happened again, and I managed to get a straight answer out of my son. She was there most nights, left before we woke up." Martha threw back her drink and waved for another. "I wasn't worried about anything happening. They were six years old; Richard wouldn't have known what to do with a girl if he tried. But I started to wonder... Why would a six year old girl run away from home every night and go back the next morning?"

Beckett squeezed her eyes shut, and took a drink herself.

"The police came and dragged him away in handcuffs. The girl... They had to physically carry her out of the building. She was screaming up at the windows the entire way to the car, screaming for Richard to help her. I had to sit on him to stop him from diving out the window after her."

Beckett didn't speak, didn't interrupt. She just let Martha tell her story.

Martha picked up her refill. "He was six years old. Took me  _weeks_  to calm him down. He never knew what was happening to the poor girl. When he was in high-school, it hit him what was going on upstairs all that time and he pitched a fit. We spent weeks trying to find her, and we did... but by then of course..." Martha looked into her glass. "Richard started work on his first murder thriller the next day."

Beckett sighed hard. "Montgomery told me once that homicide detectives are speakers for the dead. I have spent my entire adult life meeting total strangers on the worst day of their lives. Over and over. I go and tell them their mother or daughter or sister or whoever they cared about... is never coming back. And I jumped through fifteen hoops just to get to this point."

Martha nodded. "I never know how you do it. I was freaking out about Richard with imaginary crimes. He threw himself into... all of it. Gangs, prisons, police, spies... Dark and evil things that nobody should ever have to face became a source of endless fascination for him. I was worried about him, but decades passed and the books kept coming and he seemed to be leveling out."

Beckett nodded. "I know the feeling. The story isn't over, even when it's over. Robbery can find stolen goods; Vice can get dealers off the streets. We're Homicide... Even on my best day, even if I catch the bad guy in five minutes... The job always starts with a dead body. I gave up on happy endings a long time ago, Martha. I keep at it because I've been on the other side, and I know from experience; when you lose someone... An ending of  _any_ kind is all you want. It's the definition of my job to make it be over."

"And now this story is." Martha toasted her. "To the NYPD, and other lost causes."

Beckett returned it instantly, clinking their glasses together.

Martha took a sip. "And anyway... I never brought it up again because... I'm the one that called Protective Services. He never figured that part out, but I'm the reason she was dragged kicking and screaming out of his life."

"You did the right thing." Beckett offered.

"I wonder. I also wonder if… I should tell him it was me."

Beckett downed her drink in one gulp. "The answer to that one, is at the bottom of your glass. Anyway, I'm going after Castle."

"Only one place in the world he'd be right now."

"I know."

* * *

She was surprised to find The Angel. A large concrete angel with wings spread, over a small tombstone that bore the name of the late Alexis Collier. She stepped forward, close enough to read the plaque inscribed.

* * *

_Through the wind and the rain she stands hard as a stone_   
_In a world that she can't rise above_   
_But her dreams give her wings and she flies to a place_   
_Where she's loved_

* * *

Beckett looked around the graveyard. This section was the 'cheap seats'. She was surrounded by flat plaques, the cheapest markers a person could get. Most of them didn't even have names. These were the lives lost that went unnoticed. A large marble headstone with a concrete angel on top stood out dramatically, like it was standing guard over the lost souls…

Castle was at the Angel's grave; head bowed before it, like it was a shrine. He was shivering. He'd been there a while. He glanced over his shoulder at her, not surprised at her arrival. "You figured it all out then?"

"Yeah." Beckett said. "The killer was caught on his way out of town. He's about a rotten as his victim."

Castle nodded.

She stepped over next to him. "Do... do you want me to go?"

Long silence.

"...No."

Long silence. Kate had worked interrogations of all kinds. Some needed you to push them, some you just had to wait for them to talk. For Castle, she just waited.

"She said... She liked to pretend she was safe in a great big castle." He said finally. "When I became a big time writer and changed my name... I honestly didn't remember that part until months later."

"How long did you know her?"

"A few weeks. I think. I was pretty young at the time. It was the middle of winter, and I... I woke up one night, and found this girl tapping on my window like a stray cat, turning blue from the cold. She begged me not to tell my mom. I asked her why, and she said... My mom would tell her dad. Every night she would drill four words into the conversation: Never tell on me." He sighed. "Well, I told mother... And the cops came for her the next day. She was dragged into the squad car, screaming up at my window, accusing me of telling, begging to stay with me..."

Beckett closed her eyes.

"Every night she would come in and stay under my blanket to avoid... y'know; freezing to death outside. Sometimes she'd have bruises. Sometimes she would be hungry. At six years old I had stealing cookies from the kitchen down to a science." Castle rubbed a hand over his face. "She would ask me about my life... but when I asked her, she told me to guess. At first I guessed typical stuff, and my guesses got more and more fantastic. I just... One night she told me she liked my stories more than her real life. Only time I ever saw her cry."

He wasn't even talking to her any more. Not really. Beckett kept her mouth shut. She had never heard anything like this from him before. Not without it being wrapped in a joke.

"So I would make up stories for her." Castle continued. "Fantasy stuff really. Fairy tales. Cinderella stuff. The poor girl gets rescued by a handsome prince. It was routine after a few days. I would go to bed, she would come down the fire escape, climb under my covers while I told her stories and got her food, and she would fall asleep warm and smiling. She was always gone before I woke up. But one day she stayed. She woke me up at dawn and told me... she'd had a dream about one of my stories. She had stayed to tell me about it." He rested a hand on the tombstone. "That was the morning mother came in and caught us." He glanced at her. "She doesn't know that... I figured out who made the call. I don't know if telling her would make it better or worse."

"She's barely holding onto the secret as it is. She'll admit it when she's ready, and you'll forgive her for hiding it. You two love each other too much to let secrets destroy that."

Long silence.

"So now you know." Castle finished. "Now you know how I became a storyteller. How I first got into telling stories, and why I became fascinated with all the darkest things the world can offer." He shrugged sheepishly. "You had to find out eventually I guess."

Beckett squeezed his hand. "She'd be proud of you."

"She would hate me." Castle said without hesitation, unable to meet the Stone Angel's gaze. "I made up happy escapes for her... And I made my fortune telling macabre tales of murder and death. Everything I did to set her free, one night at a time… and I turned into what she was escaping from, and I made a fortune doing it. She would hate me for that."

Long silence.

"You come here often?" She asked him finally.

"Never been." Castle said blandly. "Didn't think I could face it. But when I got rich... I had the grave cleaned up, had them add the statue. It means nothing, except that it means a lot."

"I hesitated too. Didn't want to come out to my mom's grave. Wouldn't even come out during the burial. Stayed behind at the funeral parlour." Beckett licked her lips. "Didn't want to replace my mom with a headstone in my head."

Castle nodded. "I saw a few shrinks growing up. They say I should have come out. Should have spoken to her."

"Why don't you?" Beckett suggested gently. "It helped for me. She's waited a long time to see you again."

Long silence.

Castle knelt down before the headstone. "It's me." He said softly to the headstone, reaching out to rest a hand on it, so gently that he could barely feel the marble. "It's... been a long time. I'm sorry it took me so long to come visit... And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't save you Lexi. I'm so sorry."

Silence.

Castle had tears in his eyes, but blinked them back. "I have no idea what I'm doing here. What do I say?"

"Whatever's important." She told him gently.

After thinking a moment, Castle took Beckett's hand in his and pulled her a little closer. "Lexi..." He said aloud. "I want you to meet Kate."

Beckett didn't flinch, letting him talk for a while, under the wings of the concrete angel. She had spent a career meeting total strangers on the worst day of their lives. Over and over. She got through it with the support of her team. She could give an awful lot of support in return. Working homicide meant delivering closure, not happiness.

_Castle was right._  Beckett admitted to herself.  _The last page is the hardest one to write._

**END**


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